


(I Never Asked) For The Queen's Hand

by lynzii



Series: The Mighty Queen Bilbo! [1]
Category: The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: Alternate Reality, BAMF!Belladonna, BAMF!Dwarves, BAMF!Smaug, Belladonna Took is a Queen, Guardians - Freeform, Hobbit Royalty, I'm gonna stop now because these tags are getting silly, M/M, Matriarch Community, Mpreg, Prince Bilbo's Harem, Queens are Kings and Kings are Queens, Royalty, Smaug's Cheekbones, So technically this means princes are princesses and princesses are princes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-20
Packaged: 2017-11-29 11:06:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/686265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynzii/pseuds/lynzii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the Shire loves a Queen in power, and heeds their words more than they would a King. Belladonna Took is, by far, the Shire's most loved and respected hobbit queen, as she rules her kingdom with a brave face and a wooden spoon that is perhaps mightier than any king's iron fist. Despite this, Belladonna believes that her reign would soon be over, and it would be her son's turn to be the Shire queen. She believes that he is ready to be the new queen.</p><p>Except he isn't.</p><p>Their people are against the idea of an unwed queen - and add the fact that he does not seem at all motherly! - and seem to favor Lobelia Sackville-Baggins of Hardbottle more. Distraught, Queen Belladonna sends her most trusted servants to find a nice, reputable man who was worthy of her son's hand.</p><p>She never expected them to come back with three. Nor did she expect them to be Dwarves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of Took and Baggins

**Author's Note:**

> Both the summary and the title suck. Oh Lord.
> 
> This is the first time I've written anything for this fandom, and I'm really nervous about it. Really, this idea just popped in my head, and I've no excuse for its mediocrity. I do, however, wish that people would like it. This is not only the first fic I'm submitting to this specific fandom, but this is also the first serious fic I'm working on alone. So, hurray me?

When Bungo Baggins passed away many years ago, the people of both the Shire and, to a further extent, Dale, felt their Queen's heartbreak. It had been the first time that the Queen, Belladonna Took, the most loved and admired ruler of the matriarch kingdom of the Shire, showed the weakness inside of her—and what her people had hoped to be the last. She was left without a consort, without a king by her side to help rule her kingdom, and without a father to help raise her only son.

Prince Bilbo was only a toddler when his father had left the safety of Bag End to participate in a war everyone, even those who had survived it and took pride in being victors of, wanted to forget. He didn't know his father very well, he barely even knew how to speak last he saw him, but Bilbo knew that, if his mother and the people in Hobbiton and the entirety of the Shire mourned his death then and even now, he must have been a very remarkable hobbit—maybe the most.

Mother wouldn't speak of him when Bilbo asked—at least, not without bursting into tears. He was a child, and he loved his mother greatly, so when she was in pain, he felt it as well, and followed her lead with his own stream of tears. The times he did learn even the slightest bit about his father, it had been from the drake that took care of the fallen king, their head of household, Oswin. But even then, whenever the man spoke of his master, he, too, would take up a look of anguish and would silently blame himself for the kingdom's loss, for not being able to protect his Highness, as was part of his duties as the king's servant.

The young prince Bilbo hadn't the heart to ask Serath, his mother's adviser, nor did he have the heart to ask Smaug, his own guardian. All he knew was that his father was probably the most sought-after man of his time, and that he would be lucky if, by the time he was of age, he'd find a man like him to be his husband.

-

The Shire is known for its nearly impenetrable peace, the gentlefolks who resided there, and the steady and successful rule of its queen.

The years of grieving had finally come to an end when Belladona's love for her people overcame that sentiment that had drowned and held her captive for a length of time. She put up the face that her people knew, that her people were fond of, and the new-found bravery that she was known for. She got back on her large hobbit feet and resumed her steady rule, and resumed the role of mother to Bilbo.

She never let Bilbo off her sight. Or, when it happened to be that she had to focus on other things, official affairs, she would order Smaug to leave whichever post he was assigned to at the moment and keep watch of her precious son. Smaug never objected to it, and neither did the young prince.

Eventually, Bilbo grew ever used to having the drake by his side, and found it very unusual and uncomfortable when he'd be left alone. The prince was also taught the way of the Bagginses, to ensure the queen that her only son would be kept out of harms' way.

-

“Your highness!” Smaug called out, voice loud and bordering a growl. The fire drake ran around Bag End, in search for his master. He'd searched every corner of the castle, and nearly all of the gardens. “Your highness, come out at once!” He yelled. Surely the prince would not leave Bag End in favor of a stroll through Hobbiton—but then, Smaug didn't know that! But he searched around the royal lands, not one place untouched. Of all of Hobbiton, Smaug had not thought to search one place, solely because he didn't think his master would enter it. But Smaug stopped dead on his tracks, thinking back.

The prince had always been fond of books, and it appeared that the ones he had in his chambers had not sufficed. The times that Bilbo went off to visit the library in Hobbiton, he didn't look all that impressed, either. But then, there was one place in the entire kingdom that possessed the books that could have piqued his royal highness' interest.

It was just outside of Bag End, and barely ever visited anymore.

Smaug unsheathed a sword and walked towards the area of the Took-Baggins land that was nearly all tall grass. He swung his sword around, slashing down the high weeds and clearing his path. Soon enough, the trail cleared up enough for him to see where he was going, the largest hobbit-hole of the Shire coming into view.

It had once belonged to Bungo Baggins, a gift from queen Belladonna on the first few years of their marriage. Bungo was more of a scholar than his wife; he loved to read and drown in history and fiction, and Belladonna was more than happy to let him indulge in such a simple pleasure. Since she could not have a second study in the castle, for fear of interruption, she had one built where the master would not be disturbed—the lovely yet deserted hill on the edge of Bag End. It served as both a study and a reminder of his original home, and Bungo Baggins was happy to spend a good half of his days in that hole. Sometimes, the queen would slip out of her duties and join him, letting her husband read to her and their unborn child.

Smaug sometimes wondered if the babe prince had developed his love for books in his mother's womb, when his father read him stories.

They held a variety of books, Lord Baggins' shelves. Books with the most intriguing subjects. They ranged from books that explained the origins of the races in Middle Earth, to the plants that the Shire had to offer. They also contained many books of romantic fantasies and dreams of adventure, some written by the king himself. Surely the prince would have loved to read those!

That was why Smaug hadn't a doubt that his master was inside that hobbit-hole!

He sheathed his sword and opened the door. He did not bother knocking, he knew Bilbo was in there from that sickeningly sweet smell of a special type of pipe weed—and why was the prince smoking!?

“Young master Bilbo,” Smaug called out once again, voice deep and calm and cold as it always was, with the clear exception of this morning, when the disappearance of the prince left nearly everyone in the castle of Bag End scurrying around in worry and fear and the urgent need to find the young Took prince. Smaug's scaled ear rose when he heard the loud scratching sound of a chair's feet dragging against old wooden floors. The drake twisted his arm back to quietly shut the door behind him, following the sound of someone fumbling around—what he'd assumed to be Bilbo cleaning up whatever mess he'd made, not that he was the messy type.

By the time Smaug reached one of the back rooms of the hole, a puzzled expression spread across his face. The prince was wrapped in dusty old drapes, books cradled in his arms and eyes tightly shut. He seated beside a large crate, curled up and seemingly hiding between the said crate and the wall. His guardian snorted.

“Master Bilbo, what are you doing?” Smaug asked with an exasperated sigh, arms crossing over his chest. The prince opened his eyes, wide, blue eyes telling him that the young hobbit could not believe that he'd been found. Smaug flashed a small smirk before his golden eyes landed on a still-smoking pipe laying beside his master on the floor, threatening to roll to its side.

“And why do you have a pipe? With candied weed? Why, your highness, you aren't even old enough to be having a pipe—,”

“It's nothing to worry about! Smaug, I am seventeen! I am sure that I am old enough for a puff off a pipe!” Bilbo whined, sitting up and grinding the smoking weed inside the pipe with a damp finger, preventing it from smoking any further. 

Smaug shook his head disapprovingly and gave a very disappointed huff. “Seventeen would mean you're still a child, Master Bilbo, and you would be getting us all in trouble should the queen know her son has taken to a pipe,” he said pointedly, making Bilbo flinch.

“You wouldn't tell mother, would you?”

“Of course not, your highness. As I've said, it does not only mean that you would be in trouble, but us guards and guardians of Bag End, too, would suffer the wrath of the queen,” said Smaug. For a minute or two, Smaug didn't know, there was nothing but silence between them. The prince had a look of guilt dancing in his eyes and it almost made Smaug regret what he said. Really, the queen herself had her first pipe at fifteen, and none of the household drakes and hobbits said a word about it, neither did the former royal couple.

Ah, perhaps King Gerontius had something to say about that, but Queen Adamanta hadn't—in fact, for some strange reason, she encouraged it! And the Queen's word had the most influence on them, thus allowing the then-princess Belladonna smoke a pipe young.

Though, not a single servant, guard or guardian in the household knew whether or not the queen would react the same way her mother did when it came to her precious son.

Smaug grimaced, thinking about it silently, before letting his eyes fall back to his master. He still had that distraught look on his face, and it finally took effect on him. Sighing, Smaug held out his hand and offered to help the prince up. Bilbo looked at him for a moment before he gave a small smile and reached out for his guardian's hand, Smaug helping him up on his feet. “She may or may not mind it. Who knows?”

“I'll try not to upset mother with my new-found fascination of pipes and pipe weed,” Bilbo said softly as he shuffled to get on his feet, tripping over them, however, and nearly crashing into Smaug. The other, however, held out his hands and steadied the prince by his shoulders. “Careful!” Smaug said. Bilbo ducked his head shyly and quietly thanked Smaug for the help.

“What have you there?” asked Smaug, a finger pointing at the books the prince had cuddled against himself. Bilbo smiled sheepishly and loosened up his arms. “Books,” the young man said.

“Books,” Smaug repeated, voice growing ever colder. Bilbo knew what that meant. “Does the hobbit prince take me for a fool? I assure you, I know what—,”

“They're father's books!” Bilbo squeaked. “The books father himself wrote! I saw them, covered in dust, and saw that they had my name on them—they are for me!”

The drake swung his tail behind him, his eyes lighting up in what seemed to be intrigue. The king wrote books for his son? He never knew. Neither Oswin nor Serath spoke of books written for the babe Bilbo. Perhaps they hadn't known? If they had, Oswin or Smaug would have read them to the young prince; incessantly, too. Maybe the queen hadn't the intention of letting anyone know—or maybe she hadn't known it, herself.

Whatever it was, the prince had found them, and he surely would not surrender them now.

With a sigh of defeat, Smaug gave his master a small nod before he held out his arm, inviting the prince to grab on it, to lead both himself and the prince out and back to the castle. 

Bilbo looked at him for a moment, a childish pout on his face. Bilbo didn't want to go just yet. He'd just discovered this place, and had fallen so deeply in love with it. Old and dusty as it may be, but he felt like he belonged in there, like he was safe, and like he was held in the arms of his father. The very place made Bilbo happy for many a reason. He didn't want to go back to the castle yet.

But he didn't want Smaug to get in trouble, either—he's his best friend.

Hesitantly, Bilbo held onto the sleeve of Smaug's plain beige tunic—which, Bilbo notes, the drake only wore when he hadn't any patrolling duties and instead had supervising duties. Had Bilbo been more observant, that morning, he'd have tried to convince his guardian to accompany him. That would have eased the minds of the household servants, that was certain.

“Well then, young master Baggins,” Smaug began lightly as they walked back to the castle, snatching a book from the young hobbit's arm and flipping it open with one hand. Bilbo looked up at his tall, extremely tall, friend. “Have you read your sire's books, or did you plan on reading them in your chambers?”

“I had actually planned to stay in my father's hobbit hole for the night,” Bilbo said, as if making a point. It only earned him a look of disapproval on Smaug's face. “B-But I was going to invite you to stay with me!” Bilbo sputtered to save himself. “I know how unsettling it is for you to leave me alone.”

“You must never be alone, prince Bilbo,” Smaug sighed, eyes skimming through the delicate writings of the fallen king. “The queen's kin must be served, and rightfully so. Also protected. I am here to serve and protect you, to accompany you, even if your only destination is your father's study.”

Bilbo looked both confused and perturbed. “Protect m—from what? It's not like there would be anything threatening the Shire for a long while! What would you protect me from? Birds? Butterflies? The dreaded red ants?” Bilbo snickered.

Smaug grimaced and mumbled something to himself, Bilbo catching the words 'blasted Orcs', 'daft prince' and 'still a babe'. Of course, the prince took up a look of offense, but his guardian paid him no mind. Instead, he sighed; “You've just proven to me that, no matter how mature you think you are, you are still too young to understand the seriousness of some things.”

Bilbo huffed. “What does that mean?”

Smaug shrugged, his face softening. “Why don't we drop these books off, at your chambers, and have you fixed up for a stroll through Hobbiton?”

Just like that, the prince was smiling again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be honest with you, this was unbeta'd, so all mistakes are to be pinned on me.
> 
> Also, for a visual, imagine Smaug looking like Benedict Cumberbatch, but with patches of red scales here and there, a tail, some horns, and gold eyes. And he's about the same height as Gandalf, but maybe taller by like an inch or two.


	2. In Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Queen is excited for her son's birthday, and Smaug teaches prince Bilbo about his duties as wife to his future husband. Later, a problem called Lobelia Sackville-Baggins rises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the encouragement. I will try to have the next few chapters up as fast I possibly could. However, this one's not the best you'd read. There's a sloppy attempt at humor right there. Forgive me.

Belladonna isn't unpleasant—except for the fact that she should be.

She'd been alone in her rule far too long, the memory of the death of her king never leaving her mind. If she thought back well enough, she would remember exactly how it felt like being there by her husband's side when they fought Orcs off of their land. How determined he was to not let an Orc harm his wife.

That selfless act eventually led to the fall of one Bungo Baggins.

The Queen sighed, the inked tip of her quill leaving dark prints on the polished wood of the castle study's desk, Belladonna tapping at it with her pen aimlessly. There had been too much paperwork to look through, and quite frankly, she was bored. So bored. And she was only halfway through with the reading and signing.

“Milady?” Belladonna's shot a look at the person who called to her, one that expressed surprise and only the slightest bit of annoyance. She quickly dropped that loo, however, when she noticed that it had only been Oswin. Belladonna sighed and sat up, facing the cold drake. “Oswin,” the queen greeted with a small nod. Oswin bowed his head and tentatively took a step forward. “You—I was told by Serath that you wished to speak with me.”

Belladonna pressed her hands together, palm against palm and fingers against fingers, eyes shut lightly and the pointed tips of her nails pressed against the underside of her plump bottom lip. “Yes, Oswin, I would like you to speak to me about the preparations for the anniversary of my son's naming day,” ordered the queen calmly. “What would happen inside and around of Bag End?”

Oswin swallowed. “Well, your highness, the cooks and I have decided to keep Prince Bilbo's big feast simple, since the prince hadn't shown any signs of—of— _indulging_ , if you will.”

Belladonna frowned, unsatisfied. She stood up and sighed rather loudly, running her fingers on the smooth edge of her desk. Oswin fidgeted nervously at her doorway. “I do not believe that is grand enough for my son's coming of age,” she said softly.

“I—well, we are prepared to make changes, your majesty,” Oswin assured her. Belladonna nodded.

“See to it that the entire kingdom of the Shire is aware of the perfection that is my son, Bilbo Baggins,” Belladonna announced with the voice of a proud mother. Oswin watched as she walked a small circle. “I want a celebration that all hobbits and drakes of the kingdom could enjoy and remember. I want them to witness their next queen finally come of age,” Belladonna spoke out happily. “Have the others announce a festival. Have the best cakes, pies, sauces and jams ready in a set of booths in Hobbiton, and soups and roast in another. And prepare for a banquet in the castle, for Tooks, Brandybucks and Bagginses! Have only Bilbo's favorites served.”

Oswin, dumbstruck at the queen's demands, only nodded near absently. “Yes, your majesty.”

“And robes!” the Queen gasped with a face-splitting smile. “Seek out the Shire's best tailors! Make sure my son is dressed in only the finest robes.”

The blue-scaled drake smiled nervously at the Queen's direction. “My, your majesty, you seem to be in a very, um, excitable mood today...”

Belladonna grinned. “Of course I am, dear Oswin! It is not every day that my son becomes of age,” she said rather cheerfully. “And I have full intent on making this a memorable one.”

-

Bilbo looked up at his towering friend with a horrified expression clear on his face. Smaug wasn't any better; his face took up an even harder look that it usually had, though his eyes said he'd rather be doing something else completely. Bilbo couldn't blame him.

“S—Smaug, really, you needn't do this. I already know about all of this,” Bilbo insisted, sputtering and blushing ever heavily. Smaug shook his head.

“Believe me, prince Bilbo, I would prefer not to do this at all, but it is by the order of your mother,” Smaug explained with a hint of embarrassment. That would have bothered Bilbo hadn't he felt the same way.

“I've read books about it! Really! It's best you just tell mother that I've educated myself on the matter—,”

“The Queen would not relent lest I taught you—,”

“Smaug, you could simply tell her that a scholar learns from _books_ and not oral explanations—,”

“Clearly, Master Bilbo, you are out of your mind. Another thing scholars do is listen to their mentors. Some things are to be taught orally, and you know that! You've spent a good portion of your childhood being taught things in such a way to prepare yourself for—,”

“Well, I'd rather not learn about _that_ in— in that way!”

Smaug let out an irritated growl, his own red-scaled fingers tugging at his strawberry blond hair. “It is best if we are to go through this, and never speak of it again!”

Bilbo groaned. “Fine! Fine! Teach me, oh great guardian drake, the art of _mating and reproduction_!”

“Is that a challenge, Master Bilbo?” Smaug asked with a cocked brow. Bilbo's eyes widened. “Right, then; you are but two months away from reaching that age, my prince, and soon you will be ready to take on the responsibilities that of the heir to the throne. Soon enough, you will be—and are required to be—wedded to a man, thus, you will take up _another_ responsibility.”

Bilbo stayed quiet.

“You would have to learn how to be a good wife, and you must bear young. A daughter, a bearing son, whichever one you've been given. You must know how to treat your husband, you must know how to handle yourself and your other in bed—,”

“SMAUG, PLEASE!”

The drake chuckled, mockingly. “It does so please me to see the prince in such a state of distress.”

Bilbo's face was as red as a ripe tomato, and such a sight almost always made a smile break onto Smaug's usually stoic face. “Please, I'd rather learn this myself when—when the time comes. Smaug, please, do shut your mouth about—about such things!”

“It was her majesty's orders. It could not be helped.”

“W-We will _never_ speak of such things again, Smaug. Do you hear me?”

“Very well, sir. Indeed,” Smaug gave a half-hearted shrug, himself relieved that the prince's embarrassment saved him from his own. “It was just that the Queen wanted her son to be well-versed in—,”

“Never. Speaking. Of. It. _Again._ ”

“I do apologize, Master Bilbo,” Smaug chuckled. “Though, it is true that you are coming of age,” the drake said with a proud and happy swing of his tail. That was right before an uneasy feeling settled itself in his gut. “Yet you've no suitor. Heir or heiress, by the time they've come of age, they should be ready for marriage.”

Bilbo smiled nervously at his friend and gave him a shrug. “I'm sure the right man would come to me, eventually.”

Smaug did not listen, and instead paced around the prince's chambers, a look of seriousness on his face. “This is not right. Master Bilbo is a fine young heir, you shouldn't have a problem with finding a mate, but why haven't you one yet...?”

The prince rolled his eyes and shrugged. “Oh, I don't know, maybe it's because _I'm never allowed out of this castle_ , thus preventing me to meet any potential suitors...”

“A respectable, intelligent hobbit you are, prince—in Shire terms, you'd be a sought-after mate; desirable. Why are you not being courted by the noblemen?” Smaug worried aloud.

A gentle hand was lifted and pressed against the clothed arm of the drake, ceasing his movements. Smaug looked to see the prince on his feet and off his bed, a soft and concerned look on his face. “It's quite alright, Smaug. I am not bothered by my status as a bachelor.”

Smaug frowned. “Master Bilbo—,”

“The time will come when I meet him, Smaug. You mustn't stress yourself over such a petty thing,” Bilbo said in attempts to comfort the drake. “Is it not a virtue of a respectable hobbit prince to be patient?”

It took a while, but Smaug calmed. Bilbo heaved a sigh of relief. “I—I do suppose you are right, prince.”

“Of course!” Bilbo grinned. “Now, why don't you put on your sheath and sword?”

Smaug was surprised. “What for?”

“I want to take a walk,” Bilbo announced, ignoring that frown on Smaug's face. “And I need my guardian with me.”

-

About a fortnight after Belladonna discussed her plans with Oswin, concerns of the people in the Shire arose—concerns that involved the prince. It had been made clear that the people doubted the heir to the throne, what with his status as a bachelor, and his capability as a matriarch leader contested by a particular noblewoman in the house of Hardbottle.

It was Smaug who found out about it.

He was on his way back to the castle, having finished his shift in patrolling the borders of Westfarthing, when he'd heard a couple of vendors, traders and other civilians talk amongst themselves about the prince of Bag End. Hearing the mention of his master's name had, of course, caught his attention. He stopped at a vendor's booth, staring at the produce while listening to the hobbits' conversation.

“I tell ya, that prince in the house of Took don't seem queenly enough,” an old hobbit said to a vendor as he weighed cabbages in both his hands. “Once he becomes queen, we're done for.”

“Eh, that prince we barely see?” The vendor asked, receiving a nod from the old man. “Sometimes I think we don't even have a prince. Sometimes I think his birth was but a rumor. The lad seems foreign.”

“But he's product of the union of the royal Took, and the humble Baggins! You'd expect our prince be a creature far better than his sires,” there was a snort. “But the lad can't even get a mate.”

“Questionable, I say. An heir who don't marry before the right age—how can we hobbits trust him as our queen?” Huffed one hobbit that stood beside the older one. “The Shire needs a mother who knows what they're doing. Would a tween know what to do with the young? I don't believe so, I really don't.”

“Well, there are other hobbits of their kin, aye?”

Smaug felt uneasy.

A hooded figure not far from the conversing vendors and customers stepped forward. Very tall, in hobbit standards, and perhaps just a few inches shorter than Smaug. He looked down and saw that this hooded person had on a pair of boots, and up again, he noticed that, besides the man's nose, lips and chin, everything that could be scaled covered up. A drake.

“Aye, there be others in line. I hear the house of Hardbottle has a lass fit for the job,” the drake said. The hobbits looked up at him, interest in their eyes. “The wife of Otho Sackville-Baggins shows promise. She'd birthed her husband an heir, not too long ago. A bearing one. And she has already the trust of some drakes who serve the royal family.”

“Ah, has she?” asked a vendor. “What more do you know of her?”

“She comes from a reputable line of hobbits. Hails from the Yale in Eastfarthing, daughter of Blanco Bracegirdle and Primrose Boffins,” the mysterious drake said. “A fine scholar, she was. Beautiful, graceful and a very respectable hobbit.”

The hobbits around him hummed, impressed. Smaug bit back a snarl. 

“A Boffins! Now that's a line.”

“Child of well known nobles, and she is married to a Baggins.”

“Who is also of the Sackville!”

“Wedded, and a mother,” the old hobbit said. “And a scholar. Now, there's a queen if I e'er seen one,” the other hobbits nodded in agreement.

“Simpletons,” Smaug growled, startling those who'd spoken ill of his master. They stared at him in horror, knowing that this red-scaled, armor-wearing, weapon-bearing drake was a guardian of the royal family. If Smaug the Terrible ever decided to detail this story to the queen, a banishment would not be far in their futures. They swallowed and silently begged the Valar that this scary drake would not tell on their gossips.

The drake did not reprimand them, however. Instead, his face showed clear anger and disapproval—an intimidating and chilling look to behold. Nor did he draw his sword, something they all thought he was not above doing. No, the drake continued to glare for about a minute more before he turned his back to them and, swinging his red tail near violently as he 'calmly' left the scene.

-

“Milady, we are met with a bit of a problem,” said Serath as she walked into the queen's chambers. Belladonna looked up at her, a brush still buried in her brown hair. She stared at her adviser for a moment before giving her a nod that encouraged her to continue.

“Smaug had just returned from his patrol, and overheard the conversation of the hobbits in the market,” the drake-woman began slowly. Belladonna continued to watch her, brushing her hair with care. “...and it seems that the people do not believe prince Bilbo is worthy of the throne.”

The brush's handle snapped in the Queen's pretty hand. Serath flinched.

“ _What?_ ” the Queen asked, a hint of rage in her eyes. “Who would—,” Belladonna drew in a shaky breath, fist clenching around her broken brush. “ _Why_ would anybody say that of my child?”

Serath remained unaffected by her master's poorly hidden anger. “The people are concerned about the prince's status as a bachelor, milady. Because of this, and the fact that he hasn't any experience with a child, they see him unfit for the role of queen,” she said. “In fact, they do not even know if the prince actually exists.”

The Queen looked disturbed. “They—no! My son's birth was well anticipated. The entirety of the Shire—they were all happy to know that I had given life to a bearing son,” she said, near complained. “If this is just the case of him being a bachelor, they should know that it took me quite a long time to find my Bungo! I was yet to be wedded when I first assumed my role as Queen of the Shire. Do they expect my son to have a husband that quickly?”

Her drake frowned. “Well, you see milady, there is another thing that Smaug has heard them speak of; the people seem to want Lobelia Sackville-Baggins of the house of Hardbottle to be queen instead of the prince.”

If it were even possible, Serath swore she saw the queen's blood boil. “And why Lobelia?”

“She's married, milady. A married woman, who'd given birth to a bearing-son,” Serath began. “She is daughter to two land-owning, noble-born and respectable hobbits, from the Yale, and she is wife to your husband's nephew, a reputable hobbit he is. A scholar, too. They say she's better suited as Queen because she has all of these qualities,” and at that, the drake-woman stopped. She watched her master's expressions change from one to another.

Belladonna showed worry and discomfort, and for a while she looked thoughtful. She parted her mouth to speak, but closed it right after. Serath was concerned. Then, her master looked around the room before she looked back at the drake. “Where is your nephew?”

Serath blinked. “Smaug is with Prince Bilbo, I do believe.”

Belladonna nodded. “And where is my son?”

This time, it took Serath a while before she responded; “In Lord Baggins' old study, milady,” she said carefully. To her surprise, the Queen did not look upset. This was the first in fifteen years that anyone had ever told her that her son knew of the hobbit hole. Instead of a frown, Serath found a small smile on her Queen's face.

It was there for a brief moment, at the very least.

“Fetch Oswin for me,” she said. “And three hobbit aids of your choice. Once you have them gathered, meet me in the council room. I have something to discuss with you.”

“...your Majesty?” Serath said hesitantly.

Belladonna shook her head and raised a hand. “No questions. Just do as I say.”

Serath nodded and stood straight. “Yes, your highness,” she said before turning her back to the queen and walking over to a far hall, leaving Belladonna to her thoughts.


	3. The Grey Wizard Returns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the Queen's adviser is opposed to an idea, a Wizard is called upon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! I had school to worry about, and I had been distracted by building up a background for Smaug. I'm not sure if I'm posting what I have, though. Maybe, maybe not, but I need it, either way. 
> 
> Well, enjoy reading!

Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, without a doubt, wanted the power of the Queen.

It's strange for a hobbit to seek after power, even if they are of nobility. Hobbits are known to be gentlefolks who wanted nothing more than a cozy hole to live in, a family to love, seven meals a day, and a good pipe and some pipe weed. A hobbit who yearned for power and riches had never existed—until now.

It bothered everyone in the castle who knew about Lobelia Sackville-Baggins' intentions. They, of course, never told the prince about his cousin-in-law, for fear that it would only serve to stress and discourage him. He did, however, grew suspicious when Smaug would invite him out for walks and visits to Hobbiton more often. When asked, Smaug would say that it was to better acquaint the prince with his people—it wasn't a lie, per se.

The queen and her chosen council had been having clandestine discussions about the matter at hand, each one of them leaving the hall with a look of utter burden clear on their face when they could not come up with a solution. During these discussions, the Queen kept to herself for the most part. It added to the worries of the hobbits and drakes in her company.

Eventually, Serath would ask what was in the Queen's mind. She knew well of her master, and she knew that this woman had always been quick to think. Every idea she'd come up with would be for the best.

But seeing queen Belladonna doubt even her own ideas that she would not speak of them, Serath wasn't so sure anymore.

-

Bilbo's coming-of-age celebration was only a month away.

Tailors fussed over him, asking him what color his tunic should be—or if he wanted to wear finer things, maybe robes similar to what his mother wore when she came of age. At some point, Oswin came in and showed Bilbo a piece of Elvish jewelry that he willed Bilbo to wear, even if it was just this once. The prince hesitantly accepted, but not before asking where that headpiece came from—and thus he found out that his ancestors had received many a gift from the people of Rivendell, and the little jewelry they accepted were ages old.

Smaug had been there, whether it be because Bilbo asked him to be or that he did not have patrolling duties, the prince didn't know. But he looked absent. It worried the hobbit to see his friend in such a state.

Eventually, Smaug snapped out of his daze and helped Bilbo choose; he ended up with the colors apple green and jasmine, deciding on wearing the simple tunic, vest and breeches, with an additional cloak of which was insisted. When the two left Oswin and the tailors to work, Bilbo felt more and more inclined to ask his guardian what has been bothering him for so long.

“It's nothing to concern yourself over, Master Bilbo,” Smaug had replied rather smoothly. “For all we know, it could just be boredom.”

-

“Serath—a word?” Belladonna had called out. The drake-woman was quick to get on her feet and rush to her master's side as the queen sat on her throne. She stopped a few feet away from Belladonna and took a moment to bow. “Your majesty,” she greeted and was met with a gesture of her master's hand when she straightened up, a gesture that told her to come closer.

“I've—I have decided on what should be done,” Belladonna said once Serath was only about a foot away from her. The bronze-scaled drake looked at her master with surprise. “I wish to send you and Oswin to seek out a suitable husband for my Bilbo.”

“What— _Your Majesty_ , you wish to let others choose who is fit as the king? And an outsider, at that!” Serath exclaimed with widened eyes.

“Preferably one who would treat my boy like the gem that he is,” Belladonna continued.

“ _Your Majesty_ , this is _absurd_!” Serath all but yelled. Belladonna closed her eyes and took in a deep breath, a hand shooting up to massage her temples. The Queen did not look at all well or relaxed, an edge of anger lingering within. Serath sucked her thin lips in and remained quiet, her long nails scratching at the brown scales on the back of her hand impatiently.

“I know you care for my son—my Bilbo is my treasure, he is piece of my Bungo, and he is my life. I would have never thought of such a thing had it not been for this threat,” Belladonna said near mournfully. “I—I am still unsure of my decision. I have invited a dear friend to come and aid me—he who will arrive for my son's celebration. We would wait until then to truly decide whether or not we must act upon this thought.”

Serath's lips twisted in displeasure. “I sure do hope this friend of yours would help pull this irrational idea from your head.”

“In times of desperation, ideas may seem nonsensical,” Belladonna sighed and shrugged. Serath replied with a low grunt. The Queen looked up at her. “I am not _selling_ my child.”

Serath huffed. “I'd have believed otherwise.”

-

It was a fine morning, on what should have been a fine day, when Smaug and Bilbo tended to the garden of Lord Baggins' lovely hill. Bilbo would never call the hill his, for it had belonged to his father, and will always be his father's. He tends to it, tidies the hobbit-hole up and makes it presentable out of respect and love for his sire.

Smaug would have never expected to see a day where he'd be tending to a garden, crouched down to pull out unnecessary weeds and patting the soil with his large hands. But he had, many of them. Truth be told, he preferred slaying Wargs and Orcs than crouching over dead flowers and trying to revive them—which, really, he did not know if there was even a way to do that. He just knew that flowers would make his master happy. He offered his help because it meant that Bilbo would smile, and Smaug would never regret that—even if he knew almost nothing about plants.

Bilbo entertained himself with planting seeds on the ground, his mind set on having the most beautiful garden in all of Bag End—because that meant having the most beautiful garden in all of the Shire. He already had lavenders, roses and hibiscus aplenty, all of which he had thanks to Oswin and a couple of hobbits who watched the young prince recreate the beauty of Lord Baggins' garden.

The hobbits and drakes of Bag End decided that, while the young Bilbo Baggins was no Bungo Baggins, he definitely came close when it came to such activities.

If the Queen saw her son do what it is that he does, she would have cried. Proud and happy tears, of course.

It was a nice sunny morning, the breeze but a pleasant and welcome kiss.

“Hobbits can bear,” Smaug said simply with a small, tired sigh, sitting down on the bench that Bilbo was on. He'd been pulling weeds since earliest, not expecting so many after weeks and weeks of clearing the garden of them. Bilbo looked at his friend. “Unlike many other races—hobbits, man or woman, can bear.”

“Fairy men and Elven men can bear, as well,” Bilbo said, knowing because of the lessons Smaug forced on him—by order of the Queen, of course. “Drakes cannot?”

Smaug shook his head. “No, we cannot,” the drake said. “However, having young had never been a problem for my race—we've just as much drake-women as we have drake-men, if not more. Still, hobbits are special because of this. Should the hobbit race lack in hobbitlings, they could always mate and birth more.”

Bilbo hummed. “And what of Orcs and Goblins, Smaug?” The young prince asked, surprising the drake. “You've met Orcs and Goblins before, haven't you? Do male Orcs and male Goblins bear?”

The red-scaled drake shuddered. “I would rather not think of how such foul creatures populate, Master Bilbo,” Smaug said with yet another shudder of disgust rocking his body. “I'd rather think them dead than that.”

The prince chuckled.

With a huff of breath, Smaug pushed himself up, tall and towering when he was on his feet. “If your mother wishes to let a friend stay the night in Lord Baggins' hobbit-hole, then I should arrange the bed and clean the rooms of whatever dust remains,” he said.

Bilbo pushed himself up, “Let me help,” he'd said, but the drake put a hand over his head, adding weight and keeping the prince seated. “No,” he said with that deep voice of his. “You are tired, my prince. Sit, rest, marvel in the beauty of your work and blow smoke-rings with your pipe,” Smaug said, looking down at Bilbo. Bilbo stared up at him with his big blue eyes. The drake snorted and gave him a small bag of pipe-weed that he'd acquired on one of his shifts. “Southern Star,” he said. “I know you'd have preferred something sweeter, but...”

Smaug didn't even have to finish. Bilbo took it, a smile on his face. “Any Shire-grown pipe-weed is a good pipe-weed indeed,” Bilbo said with a nod. Smaug returned the gesture and walked into the hobbit-hole.

-

He must have dozed off.

Yes, that was it, Bilbo must have dozed off. That was the only reason.

The prince looked up at the towering figure who stood by the hill's gate, watching him with hard but not quite threatening eyes. Bilbo nonetheless swallowed thickly in nervousness. 

The man wore a gray robe, and an even grayer hat. He stood tall, taller than any hobbit but shorter than any drake he'd met, and Bilbo could not tell whether or not this man was an elf or, just simply, a Man. Bilbo sucked at his pipe, keeping this stranger's gaze. Should he call Smaug, or should he not? The man made no move to harm him, and a drake or hobbit must have let him into Bag End.

Bilbo let out a small ring of smoke.

“Good morning,” he said politely. While it had only been said not to be rude, he meant it. It was quite a fine morning, indeed. Beautiful weather, bluest skies, the brightest sunshine and the warmest breeze. A good day for hobbits, indeed.

The stranger looked at him from under those bushy silver brows, a hand coming up to stroke at his long silver beard. The man tipped his head back and Bilbo got a good look at his face; old, with a look on him that mixed stern and gentle together. “What do you mean?” he asked, startling Bilbo. “Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not; or that you feel good this morning; or that it is a morning to be good on?”

Bilbo was stunned. He let his lips curl into a small smile—ah, how he wished he'd called Smaug out to hear such clever words. Then again, Smaug would have just let the man face his blade for showing what the drake would have considered disrespect to the prince. Bilbo cleared his throat.

“All of them at once, I suppose,” the hobbit said with a shrug.

“Then I will take the prince's greeting,” the man said, unmoving. Bilbo grew even more nervous. The man did not take note of this, however. He instead stared long at the young hobbit, a hand on his beard and the other firmly grasping his staff. “My, my, you do look like a second Bungo Baggins.”

“I-I beg your pardon?” Bilbo sputtered.

“You may have it, if you wish,” the man replied. Bilbo did not know whether to laugh or curl in on himself.

“I mean—well, what do you mean by that, sir?” The prince asked. The man hummed thoughtfully.

“The prince begged for my pardon,” he said. “And so I willingly gave him what he wished for.”

Bilbo frowned, but amusement twinkled behind his eyes.

“No, I meant—what do you mean by me being a second Bungo Baggins?” Bilbo asked, clearer. The man in the pointed hat hummed thoughtfully yet again, and Bilbo silently prayed that he would not say yet another clever little thing. “You've met my father?”

The man nodded, though he looked like he was recalling something and running through it in his mind. “Ah, yes, I've met Bungo Baggins. A good man, he was. He would always sit by his garden, smoking a pipe, with a book in his hands. Very respectable hobbit, a fine one of his time,” the man let out a chuckle. “You look a lot like him—and by the way you're seated on the same spot he sat on, smoking the pipe-weed that he used to smoke, well, one would not be wrong to mistake you for your sire.”

Bilbo was overwhelmed by an emotion he could not quite describe. His heart sank in sadness, but at the same time, he also felt—well, special, and proud. The stranger knew of his father, maybe they were friends, and he just said that he was like a second Bungo Baggins. He could not help but smile.

He cleared his throat, snapping out of his thoughts. “I-I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch your name.”

“Surely, you haven't,” the bearded stranger said. “I've not given it to you.”

Bilbo was nonplussed by his answer. “Do I know you, then?”

This time, the man gave a friendly chuckle. “Oh, you know my name, I'm sure. It is a memorable one—perhaps you just do not remember which face it belonged to,” the old man gave him a smile. Bilbo could not help but get fidgety, though the man's words did turn the gears of Bilbo's mind to remember if he'd ever met a man as peculiar as this one.

“Gandalf,” the stranger finally said, and when Bilbo looked up at him, the hobbit's eyes had gotten wide.

“Gandalf!” Bilbo gasped, nearly dropping his pipe. “Gandalf the Grey! The wizard who dropped by for visits very often when I was but a wee hobbit babe!” Bilbo smiled and got on his feet, taking a step closer to the fence. “I was quite fond of your fireworks. You'd send bunches of them when Bag End would celebrate mine or mother's naming day. They make the night sky quite beautiful—ah, and we've received the ones you sent for mine but a month ago! I could not possibly thank you enough!”

The Grey Wizard gave Bilbo a smile. “I'm happy my fireworks stuck on you,” he said, and Bilbo could not help but give him a sheepish smile. “Though my name is worth more than that, I am pleased to know that Prince Bilbo of Bag End, bearing-son of Queen Belladonna the Fearless, at least remembers me for something.”

“You fought wars with mother and father, many years ago,” Bilbo shrugged. “I've come to learn.”

“And more with your ancestors, as well,” Gandalf pointed out. “I am great friends with those in your clan. Your mother shared tales of her days on the battlefield with you, then?”

Bilbo shook his head. “No, Smaug did. Mother would never let her lips speak of such a dark time.”

“But your guardian freely shares such information,” Gandalf sighed. Bilbo bit his lip, briefly wondering if he'd just gotten his best friend into trouble.

Just then, Smaug burst out of the hobbit-hole with a hand on his sword, which was still sheathed. “Prince Bilbo, are you alright!?” Smaug worried as he ran to Bilbo's side. The fire-drake was about to draw his sword and strike at whoever threatened the prince's safety, but stopped cold when his golden eyes fall upon the familiar face of a comrade. “Gandalf the Grey.”

“Smaug the Terrible, Úrin of Dale,” the wizard returned. His gaze was cold and judging, almost, fixed on the drake. “Why, if I'd have truly been an attacker, would you not have considered yourself slow?”

Smaug grew flustered. “I—I would never truly leave the prince where he could be harmed—,”

“He would never let such a thing happen to me!” Bilbo defended. “Smaug is just—just tired, is all.”

Gandalf made a sound as he nodded. “I see,” he said simply.

Smaug let his arms drop to his sides, watching the wizard. “It has been a long time since you last stepped foot in the Shire, let alone Bag End,” Smaug spoke carefully. “Will there be another war?”

Bilbo tensed.

The bearded wizard shook his head. “No, not at all. The Shire's peace is impenetrable. It would take many more years for another war to head its way West,” he said. “I am merely here to witness the coming-of-age of my dearest friend Belladonna's son.”

Smaug didn't quite believe the wizard, and Gandalf knew it. “Do you not trust me, friend?”

The drake let out a frown, lips quirking into an even deeper one. “I suppose I should, but whenever you step foot into Bag End, it is naught but for terrible news,” he reasoned.

“You are not wrong for doubting my presence, Master Smaug,” Gandalf smiled. “But let us consider this visit a reasonable exemption. I was here when the babe Bilbo was born, after all. It would only make sense if I were to watch him blossom into adulthood as well.”

“You plan to stay?” Bilbo asked excitedly. Gandalf chuckled.

“Only for a while, yes,” he said. “The Queen has promised me a place to stay in her estate. Pray tell, did the Queen mean that I'd be staying in Bungo Baggins' old hobbit-hole?”

Bilbo shrugged, a smile on his face. “I suppose that you are the friend that mother has told us about,” he said, walking forward and unlatching the gate from its simple lock and pulling it open. “Do make yourself at home, Master Gandalf!”

“Gandalf is fine, my prince,” the wizard said, unmoving. Bilbo quirked a brow, as did Smaug.

“Your room is fixed,” the drake said, insisting, in his own way. Gandalf chuckled.

“Oh, yes, I'm sure,” Gandalf said. “Though, I would like to seek an audience with the Queen, if I could.”

At that, Smaug, once again, put himself on edge. “What for, Gandalf?”

Gandalf merely smiled. “To say hello.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really need a beta for this. For now, I can manage...I guess.


End file.
